


Convince Me (Like I Need it)

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 11:20:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11401458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: This kind of thing is a cliche for a reason, but no representation or hackneyed saying can capture the real thing, the adrenaline rush of hearing fireworks shoot through the air around them, like they’re up in the sky with the lights.





	Convince Me (Like I Need it)

**Author's Note:**

> happy 7/4 himualex here they are watching fireworks sorta

They’re not allowed on the building roof but that doesn’t stop anyone from going up there, not when the super’s out partying and it’s the best view of the fireworks in the area. Everyone else is out of town or somewhere crowded; Tatsuya breathes a sigh of relief when he pushes the door, stuck in the heat, open and there’s no one out there. A few people are setting up lawn chairs across the street; on a lower building farther on the next block people are setting up what looks like fireworks of their own. The streets are buzzing, car horns and people yelling and music from stereos fills the air, loud rock and rap and electro-pop and reggae mixing into a hazy blur, a voice sticking out but getting sucked back into the sound and the constant rhythmless beat.  
  
They set up the blanket by the wall, where the shadow of the water tower falls in the afternoon; Alex bends over farther than she has to and her breasts nearly fall out of her dress; she catches Tatsuya looking with a grin and, well.  
  
“Your fault,” he says.  
  
She laughs and kisses him, standing on her toes so her mouth had to dip down to touch his and he puts his hands on her waist to steady her (as if he wouldn’t). She tastes sweet and sticky, like the pink lemonade they’d bought off a pair of bright-eyed kids on the street who’d asked them so politely they couldn’t refuse (it had been more of colored sugar water than anything else, but not undrinkable). She breathes in against his hands; he steps closer and she lowers herself back down, hands still up cupping his face. Her cheeks are red; her hair is sweaty and coming loose from its messy bun and the last thing he wants to do right now is sit outside and watch fireworks.  
  
“It’s dark out,” she says, and Tatsuya doesn’t need much convincing.  
  
He sits down on the blanket, leaning against the wall and looking up, leaving his mouth slightly open, waiting. She sits down in his lap, facing him; her dress sides up as she sits, to the top of her thighs, the tan lines from her shorts. She’s so flexible, her body contorting so easily—she pushes up against him and he kisses her again.  
  
They hear the fireworks before they see them; Alex twists around in Tatsuya’s lap and he nudges her, turning her forward so she’s leaning back against him. The sizzle of sparks, the bright red and green, blue and white against the dark grey clouds. Another set come up into the air, this time in the shape of something they’re not at the right angle to see. Maybe they should have brought drinks.  
  
Tatsuya’s reminded, suddenly, of being back in Akita, that week in that one summer when they’d gone to the festival all those years ago when he’d still been a kid, still frustrated and trying to push the limits, when he’d seen Alex in a yukata with her hair all done up, cotton candy in her hand, when his mouth had gone dry like he hadn’t had water all day and he couldn’t even say anything in a steady voice.  
  
“You’re thinking about something,” Alex says (maybe it’s because he’s stopped moving his hand on her thigh; maybe it’s the stillness of his body in general; maybe it’s because Alex can tell these things without seeing or hearing).  
  
The fireworks from across the street have started, banging loud even from this side of the water tower, the sparks shimmering down to where they look like stars that would fall down on the two of them, showering them like some sort of mystical cinematic shit. Tatsuya brushes his fingers under the hem of Alex’s dress.  
  
“Remember that time in Akita? Not particularly romantic, but.”  
  
“I do,” says Alex, turning to smile at him. “The festival, that was fun. We should go again.”  
  
“Couldn’t do this there,” says Tatsuya, fingers skimming farther up Alex’s thigh, toward the inside.  
  
“That’s true,” says Alex. “Decisions, decisions.”  
  
She scoots off his leg and onto the other side of the blanket; again the fireworks light up the night. The blue and red cut through the dark clouds, playing on Alex’s face, reflecting in her glasses. Tatsuya wants to kiss her again and so he does, soft and slow. This kind of thing is a cliche for a reason, but no representation or hackneyed saying can capture the real thing, the adrenaline rush of hearing fireworks shoot through the air around them, like they’re up in the sky with the lights.  
  
He pushes and she goes down, pulling him on top of her, his hair hanging away from his head. She pushes it back, pulling herself up enough to kiss his bare forehead before her hands move in (and Tatsuya’s regretting wearing a t-shirt instead of a button-down; fuck breathability it’s all about ease of access). The fireworks are exploding and then, against all of the fireworks and music and voices, a rumble sounds like the sky’s about to split, and then it does; the rain comes before the lightning in a sudden cascade. They’re already soaked and so is the blanket; Tatsuya wrenches open the door and it takes a few seconds to adjust to the light at the top of the staircase, the sound of the rain like it’s about to shatter the skylight above them. Alex’s dress is soaked; her hair is hanging half-out and water is running down her legs all the way down to her toes, nails painted orange and maroon and Tatsuya steps closer.  
  
“I’m cold,” he says when Alex raises an eyebrow, trying to wipe off her wet glasses with her thumbs (not like they have anything else that would do the trick).  
  
Her mouth is still warm and sweet against his; the rest of her’s all cold and wet but they’ve got some time to change that.


End file.
